Losing Your Light
by electrictwizist
Summary: Sequel to "Maybe's and Know's". Santana can feel something coming, a darkness descending. But what can she do when the light she never knew she didn't have flickers out?


Mother doesn't like Brittany, or her family.

Neither of your parents do, but her especially. You don't understand why. She was like the sun. Constant warmth. She didn't even walk into rooms, she floated. Nothing touched her, as she flitted through class halfway outside of anything that was going on. You wished you were like that. That you could ignore the way people stared at you in a way you really didn't understand yet, but you knew wasn't good. Maybe, if you didn't notice, you wouldn't feel so angry all the time. Like everything was on your shoulders, and no matter how much you do, it didn't matter. Nothing you did really mattered. And it was just so... tiring. Everything was so loud and rough and edged and you just wanted to _scream _for everyone to just stop moving so you could process everything that was going on, because it was just too much. You were only in second grade, but it felt like you were on the doorstep of something huge that you couldn't even concentrate on because you were so... afraid. You were afraid.

Brittany wasn't afraid of anything. You never were allowed to talk to her, but you wish you could. Her hair looked so soft, and it curled slightly at the end without it looking like she even tried. And her skin looked like it glowed, like she was literally so happy all of the time, it pushed out of her skin and maybe made the people around her happy? You didn't know. Mother said that her family wasn't _special _like yours. That the feeling you got, that sensation that your heart was leaping out of your chest and pushing through your skin and vibrating your muscles was something that she would never get and something that she would never understand. You felt like you could burst, but Father said the feeling wouldn't go away until just before she turned 11. Three years. Three years of feeling like you were going to cry and yell and tear and rip and shred and feed and destroy. You tried to explain to your parents, the way that these feelings felt so foreign and outside of who you were supposed to be, but they didn't understand. They said that you were just over-exaggerating, that the feelings you got were just like theirs. But, you heard stories. You don't think it could have been as bad as it is now. It couldn't be, because if they had then they would feel a little more sympathetic. Instead of... bored.

But they made one thing very clear: don't associate with people who weren't like Them. It muddled your thoughts, and if they knew, they would try and use you like in the stories your Nana told you when you were younger, about a man named Tom Riddle and how he was treated horribly by humans, and when he tried to help Them rise to great strength, he was banished and never seen again. Because of the non-Thems. But Brittany didn't seem mean. Or scary. She was light. She was the sun. She was the stars.

So you couldn't really be blamed for what happened that day at the playground.

It was after school. It was winter, so the sun was setting early, soaking up the rest of the day into darkness. But not yet. Now, the sun was just sinking, and everyone was bundled up and playing outside because there were too many kids to keep inside without something breaking. You were sitting on on the grass, shivering as your skin felt numb, watching as the wind blew the pieces you had just picked up to braid before losing interest float around you aimlessly. You didn't know if you were doing that, but it didn't feel like it. It just felt like one of those things. Like Nature's own magic that only you noticed.

You looked up, and you saw her. Brittany was swinging, and even though normally everyone crowded the swings, it was empty. She was firmly wrapped in different looking clothes, dots with stripes with patches. But somehow, it all fit. Of course it did, it was Brittany. She topped it all off with a pair of earwarmers that made the blue of her eyes stand out even more. She looked perfect. But wait, something was off. You could feel it. There was a crackle in the air, which must have been what made you look up in the first place. You felt like something was about to happen. Everyone did. Only their faces weren't looking at Brittany, but instead the lumbering fifth grader that was strutting towards the swings like he was on a mission. You recognized him. You don't remember what from, but he was like you. Different. And your control was like a saint's compared to him. You don't know if he had started yet, but even if he didn't, the fact that he was twice Brittany and your weight combined meant that magic or not, he was going to hurt her. Brittany. The girl who braided her hair in class and slowly picked up everyone's toys after school ended and helped Ms. Bennett wipe the desks down even though she didn't have to and like everybody. The girl who wouldn't fight back. Even now, she was blindly swinging, unaware of anything that was going on around her. That beautiful oblivion that you wished you had was going to hurt her.

Before you knew it, you were standing up. No one noticed you until you _made _them, standing in front of the path from Brittany's swing and the nameless boy who just made a bad mistake. Your muscles were shifting in anticipation, and you almost smiled. _This_. This is something you could do. You might not ever have the easy happiness that Brittany did, and you might never be allowed to talk to her if your parents had anything to say about it when they found out that she wasn't special the way Santana was special, but you could protect it. Brittany shouldn't have to get her happiness ruined. No. You wouldn't let that happen.

The boy finally realized that there was something in the way of him and his target, but quickly brushed you aside and walked towards the swing set. Brittany finally looked up, making contact with this guy, you think his name is Dave, before looking at you and smiling.

_She looked at me. _

"Hello." The voice was soft, just like you imagined. Slightly lilted at the beginning, and sweet. Like syrup. Her hands were loosely wrapped around the rusted chains that held her seat, and her hair was lightly braided into two swings behind her back that went past her shoulders and moved in the breeze, that you saw her make earlier in class while everyone else was talking during break time. You felt a sickness in your stomach, that whatever Brittany had put around her was about to be shattered. She never noticed the voices before, mocking her slow and steady pace, or even talked to people. She didn't need to. Her imagination was big enough to never really need to talk with anyone. And that was about to be ruined by some boy who probably just wanted to ruin it. He was the leader of the playground, and he didn't like a victim who didn't notice him.

He smiled, and a shiver went down your spine. Couldn't the adults tell something bad was going to happen? He looked so mad, and nothing was being done. You at least thought you would only have to stall for a few minutes before a teacher or aide or something stepped in, but now it looked like absolutely nothing was going to stop whatever this was from happening. He hadn't said anything yet, and Brittany's brow furrowed. She didn't look back at you, which made you slightly pleased if only because that meant she didn't think that you were on his side. You noticed that her hands started turning red from gripping tighter on the swing chains. "I'm Brittany."

"Yeah, I know. What I _want _to know is, why are you so stupid?" A slight gasp could be heard from the kids around them.

"I-I don't kno-"

"Yeah, you don't. If you _did, _you'd know that was my swing."

Her eyes started getting wider, and her voice flattened a little. "I could move?"

But even you could tell that didn't matter. This was just a reason to attack, and a small one at that. The boy just wanted a reason to tear her down, and she had done something that he could use as an excuse without even being aware of it. She didn't deserve this, and before you knew it a voice cut through the sharp tension that had been radiating off of Goliath, standing tall above the shaking David at his feet.

"I'd say pick on someone your own size, but where will we find someone as huge as you? Or someone who's brain is that small."

He swung around, and you realized something: that was you. You just said something to the biggest bully at school.

Oh no.

"What did you just say?" At least his attention wasn't on Brittany anymore. No one's was, they all turned towards you as the focus shifted, his focus, from the small girl who wasn't really taking to his rage, to the even smaller girl who looked like she was shaking in anger. Like him. You inhaled through your nose, correcting your posture rod-straight, and watched as he slowly walked closer to you, your fists clenched together in an attempt to look scary but not _too _scary at the same time. He wasn't that big, but he was bigger than you. Stronger, too. And your parents knew his, the Karofskys, so he must be Special like you. Part of you was terrified that you picked a fight, but when you saw two blue eyes staring at you confused without breaking contact, that melted away and nothing was left but anger. You hated this guy.

"Maybe you didn't hear me." You replied, taking a step towards him. "Probably because the fat on your face melted into your ears."

An _oooh _surrounded you, but you don't know from who. It's not important, because he's walking towards you and you really needed to pay attention because you're almost sure that he's going to try to hit you and it's going to hurt really bad and you need to find a way to find something to hit back so it doesn't hurt you as much as it hurts him.

You concentrate so hard that you almost don't notice that someone walks behind him, too close!, and gently puts a hand on his arm. He turns around, furious. It's Brittany. She looks like she's trying to calm him down, but it's too late. And he's too far away. It's too late, he's too far away, and he's swinging his arm. He's going to make contact with Brittany, and she's going to collapse like a ragdoll because he's so freakishly _big _that he could knock down a tree with his apelike hands. No. No, no no. This is so much worse. You can handle getting roughed around. I mean, you would find a way to handle it. But not Brittany. If that idiot thinks he's laying _one hand _on yo-on her, then you're just going... you're going to...

A feeling rushes through you, rocking through your body and pushing everything outside. You feel like you should close your eyes, it's that intense, but no. You need to see whatever it is that your body is going to do, whatever it is that's going to happen. You can feel it rush through your fingertips and toes and Something is released. It yawns, it stretches through your body, pleased. It's not you, it doesn't feel like you. It feels bigger, different. A whisper creeps through your body, a light cold shiver through the black of anger, and it quietly murmurs as it reaches it's target.

_Oh, yes. I see now. He has done wrong. He has tossed the first stone. He must be punished. You have a good Eye, girl. He cannot live without consequence, for he is something that is in your way. We must finish him. Yes?_

_Yes... no! Wait, no. _

_It's too late, Child. The magick is out... there is nothing you can do to stop it. _

_No, I have to be able to do something._

In a matter of seconds, you somehow shifted the dark Abyss you had unknowingly sent towards this boy. You don't know what your instict was to do to him at first (Yes, you do, but you don't want to think about it. You can't.) so you instead send his body crashing against the tall Oak that was a few feet away from you all. The children whispered about a strange gust of wind, but Brittany looked at you like she knew. She knew it was you who did that.

_See? I stopped it._

_There's no stopping the inevitable. Fate has a hand in you. Soon, a choice will be made. Your blood has demanded this of you._

_Wait, what?_

Silence.

You can't look up. Everyone is dead silent now, and you don't know why but you need it right now. You don't know what just happened, what you just heard, but it felt wrong and not something that you ever want to hear again.

Wait, too quiet. You looked up to the sight of your teacher, glaring at you. Great.

"I'm calling your parents."

Of course she is.

Even better.

* * *

You tried to explain it to them, but as usual, they don't understand. Your parents, that is. Maybe it's the fact that Dad can't leave the office, and Mom only uses the second car for emergencies (which apparently you don't qualify as), so neither of them can see your face when you try to explain to them what happened in a quiet whisper. It's impossible, they say. Magic doesn't happen this early. You just imagined it, you just think that's what it was. And when you explained the voice finally, in a rare choked moment of honest, they just say nothing. Your father says someone is calling for him, and Mother just says _That's nice, dear _in a voice that knows she tuned out minutes ago. They aren't listening. Again.

Your teacher says that since it's the end of the day anyway, to ask your parents to come pick you up. But you know that's not going to happen. Not after you've made a scene at school in front of people. So you nod, and while listening to the dial tone play in one long sad note, you fake a conversation. Mom, can you pick me up? Silence. Ice cream, for me? Silence. I love you too, Mommy. (She's never let you call her that.) You hang up, and smile at the teacher. She smiles back. And then, you wait a few minutes before however long it would take your mother to get outside. You wave goodbye.

And then you start walking home.

It's drizzling slightly. It must have been raining right after you got brought into the office to wait about an hour ago, but you missed the rain so now puddles have collected on the pavement and the sky is foggy. You can see clear, but it makes your head feel heavy, like you're dreaming. The red boots you've been wearing make a squeak against the road as you slowly walk towards the direction of the gate that surrounds the school. It only takes about five minutes for the bus to get here every morning, so you think you can make it back home before dinner to wash up before whatever important person Father brings home from work to brag about his position in "The Americas" (he talks so weird sometimes.) You try not to think about what happened earlier, but then you feel like someone is staring at the back of your neck. Before you know it, your shouders are being pushed and your knees make contact with the ground.

You wince. They feel even worse than that one time when you fell off of your bed when you were jumping on it when you were supposed to. They're definitely cut, but you can't roll your jeans up because whoever pushed you is still there, and you feel a swift kick to your stomach.

You can't breathe. You can't look up, you can't breathe. You can't even move to see who is doing this, but you know who is.

Karofsky.

It has to be.

But this time, he doesn't have an audience. This time, he's just reminding you of your place.

Another kick.

You curl yourself in, smart enough to know that you can't really fight back, seeing as he's three years older than you and obviously doesn't have a problem beating up a little girl, but you aren't going to let him just hit you. So you scream once, loudly. You want him to back off, because it's happened so fast and this is the first thing you can think of.

You hear footsteps, and he can too. You think. You hear a whisper of threats before he disappears. But then, those footsteps come closer to you, and you clench your muscles, not knowing what to do but trying your hardest not to hope for something good.

"Are you okay?"

_Thank you._ You've only heard that voice once, but it was the best voice to hear. Like, ever. You can't say anything, because you're still shaking and gasping slightly, but you shake your head. You don't know if that was a yes, or a no, but it doesn't really matter. You feel her sit down next to you, and adjust herself to where her arm is lightly placed on your back, waiting for you to catch your breath.

"That was my fault. You... you didn't have to do that for me. And he's a bad person." You try to explain, but your words are caught in your throat, so you let her keep talking instead of cutting her off with gasps. "I'm Brittany. You're Santana, right? You sing in the back of the class during sing time and don't join in even though your voice is the prettiest." _She noticed me._ "Thank you, even though that wasn't smart. You're really brave, but it was my fault. Maybe if I wasn't stupid, I would know that was his swing. I'll remember next time."

You smiled, and tilted your head towards to to briefly make eye contact.

"You're the smartest person I know."

She smiled, her cheeks turning dusty pink, her eyes sparkling. "You mean that?"

You nod, before everything around you starts spinning. You murmur, "I'm going to miss dinner."

"What?"

Darkness.

* * *

As the sun falls, a young girl runs to her mother and begs her to help bring a bruised girl into her car. _She's hurt. My fri-My Santana is hurt._

* * *

**A/N: I re-read Part I recently and I couldn't help but write something from Santana's point of view, seeing as a lot of people asked for a continuation. I hope you enjoyed it! Part II of ****this will be coming soon. This is going to be longer than the other one, so I wanted to break it up. **


End file.
